Offensive Maneuvers
by MidnightLove87
Summary: It's a new NFL season for New England Patriots' seasoned Quarterback, Edward Cullen. But, is it going to be game-on as usual? With a student physiotherapist, who seems unaffected by his 'charms', and more, Cullen doesn't think so. His attitude reflects that – on and off the field. Yet, as it's said: "the Games must go on," even if drastic offensive maneuvers are put into play.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **Offensive Maneuvers – It's a new NFL season for New England Patriots' seasoned Quarterback, Edward Cullen. But, is it going to be game-on as usual? With rookie players, a stern Offensive Coach, a bossy PR woman, and a student physiotherapist, who seems unaffected by his 'charms', Edward doesn't think so. And his attitude reflects that – on and off the field. However, as it's said: "the Games must go on," even if drastic offensive maneuvers must be put into play.****

**Chapter 1**

Pulling off my helmet and taking a quick glance at the score board, I know we're going to need to pull our heads out of our asses.

I wipe the sweat from my forehead and look back at the field. This isn't over yet, but it may as well be. It's disgusting how brutally the Jets are beating us out here.

Practice hasn't been nearly as rigorous as it should've been, and we've got quite a few green players this year, thanks to the draft. If the coaches had taken my advice, we would've amped the practices and we'd be out here winning.

It's our season opener and we're really looking like shit today. I'm sick of it; we're getting taken advantage of on easy plays.

I'm sure the announcers are tearing us apart. I can't imagine any good comments coming our way other than my footwork, which, if I do say so myself, has been supreme.

Walking into the locker room at the end of the second quarter, my blood is about to boil. I try to reel it in, but it's useless. The coaches just don't seem to care enough, and here I am stressed out for the whole team.

Looking around at the team, I can't see anything that sets my mind at ease. The draft defense hasn't worked out to make a difference; sure they're at the standards their schools set for them, but they're certainly not at NFL level.

Offense isn't much better; we should be running drills, training harder, pushing ourselves to be the best.

"Guys, we need to be better out there. We need to pull it together, and I'm not seeing that from any of you."

Silence. I get nothing from these boneheads. Even the guys I'd consider my friends don't speak. It's ridiculous and I feel as if I'm losing my mind.

"What Cullen's trying to say, is that we, as a team, need to give it a hundred and ten percent!" Coach Thompson interjects.

"Damn right," I agree. Seventy percent would even be good, since we look as if we're handing the win away.

"Well, then!" Offensive Coach Peters exclaims, slamming his binder against the wall. "What are we waiting for?"

"Hands in!" Coach Thompson shouts, trying to rile up any energy left in these men.

I reluctantly put in my hand. Coach counts us down. "On three. One, two, three. Go Patriots!"

Some of the guys are patting each other's helmets, others are grabbing their teammates between the tits, and there're a few who are even slapping each other's asses. It's kind of weird, but that's what footballers do. We psych one another up any way we know how. It's necessary 'cause regardless of how we play, we're still supposed to be a team.

Lining up in the tunnel, we jog out and head to our sidelines.

"Let's show these fuckers what a home field advantage is all about!" I scream before slipping in my mouth guard and heading out to the field.

Coach Peters feeds me the play in my helmet, thanks to the wonders of technology.

The offensive team circles around me and we quickly run through our strategy. "We're going with dive. We need to be fast! Let's do this!"

We slam each other's helmets and break, taking our starting positions.

This one's going to be fun. We're going to run the ball and push for a touchdown so we can clinch this motherfucking game.

We hike the ball and my feet are quick. I hurry back before sending the ball sailing to my running back, Lahote. The play is for him to throw it through the hole that the rest of the offense opens up and to have Collins, the center guard, catch and run it to the end.

Lahote throws it to Collins, who catches it thankfully, and Collins takes off toward the end zone. Mud kicks up from his cleats as he gains major yardage, taking it right to the zone.

Offense must've woke up because we're finally making progress.

Everyone's so damn happy about scoring, but I'm not pleased. "Don't get excited, we need two more strong plays just to catch up."

"Cullen, why do you always have a hair across your ass?"McCarty asks.

"Probably for the same reason we couldn't score in the first two quarters of a game," I reply flatly.

"Jesus Edward, you're always such a poor sport," Black comments. This kid is part of last year's draft. He's still a little green, in my opinion, but Coach Thompson and Daniels think he's a good fit for our defense. I'll give that the kid is built like a brick shithouse, but he's nothing special. He lacks speed and agility. He can take a hit, but not really give one, so unless the other player is running right for him, he's useless.

"Poor sport? I didn't realize we were out there playing for fun. Excuse me for wanting to deserve the paycheck I get. God knows you two haven't earned yours."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" McCartyspits. He's a big fucker, six foot nine and heavy doesn't even begin to accurately describe him, but his hands are usually fast, ready to block. That was last season, though; I haven't seen him do anything fast lately, other than eat a doughnut.

"Yeah," Black agrees.

"Because, dumbass over here," I say, pointing to McCarty, "is supposed to be guarding me, as well as be light on his feet, and we both know that's not the case. And you—" I turn and point to Jake. "You're probably the biggest meathead I've ever come across. You don't even bother to study the plays, let alone practice them properly."

"You're fucking dead."

"Good luck, Black. I don't think you've met my body guard."

"Nope, but I don't need to."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, a little thing called the locker room."

"Why don't you take all the focus you have for me and direct it toward the game? Maybe our defense would actually get somewhere."

"Just go fuck yourself."

"I don't have to, McCarty; I have plenty of girls ready and willing to do that for me."

Coach calls time and everyone takes their positions. I take a seat on the bench, waiting for the inevitable demise.

Our defense loses substantial ground, and I'm left wondering if we're going to make it out of here without this turning into a slaughter house.

"Goddammit Johnson, you keep getting flagged like that and you're going to hand them the victory!" I shout, as defense retreats to the bench.

"Fuck you, Cullen!"

"No, you know what, fuck you! I can have your ass riding the bench for the rest of the season if you keep mouthing off."

He narrows his eyes and spits off in my direction. Shaking my head, I run out onto the field, joining the huddle. Coach Peters comes on in my headset and says it's time to go with an off-tackle. I think for a moment and look at the clock.

We don't have time to force our way through that much yardage. We need miles, not inches, and these guys are tough.

"Well, what'd he say?" Lahote asks.

"Flea flicker."

One of them lets out a whistle. I can tell this play isn't everyone's cup of tea, but it's what's going to work.

Paul looks rather lost and that's not good, since he's going to have a vital role in this play.

"Lahote, it's coming to you, then snap it back to me, then I'll throw to you, Whitlock. We gotta be quick, though." They all nod and we slap each other's helmets again. Keeping our energy levels up is only a small part of what needs to be done here and I'm not sure the team's going to be able to pull it off.

We take our positions and Collins hikes me the ball, sending me back, way back to throw it to Lahote.

"_Cullen! What the hell is this?! This isn't the play I called!" _Coach yammers in my ear_. _I turn the headset down and think fast.

My feet are quick, I'm on point. Lahote catches it and tosses it back to me, but as I go up to catch it, some fucker comes right and hits me hard. It's fumbled and we lose possession of the ball.

Walking back to the bench, I'm pissed. My ankle hurts, but I'm more upset with the offensive guards for not doing their job.

"Cullen, what the fuck was that out there?" Coach Peters yells, as I take a seat.

"I don't know, probably our only shot at winning this fucking mess."

"That wasn't the play I called!"

"I know, your play was shit, so I changed. When your fat ass is out on the field, then you can call plays!"

He throws his hands up and walks off. I grab myself a water and try to calm down. We're just entering the fourth quarter; we may be able to pull this around, but it's going to take work.

We spend most of the quarter trying to make up for our shitty defense. I'm still quick as ever, even though my ankle is beginning to twinge, trying to make sure we keep our head above water. As the time counts down I see room for one last Hail Mary play and I go for it. The ball is hiked and I toss it right down to Paul, he catches it and runs like hell for the end zone. It's beautiful. My timing was so on point that he makes it there before the other team even knows what to do with themselves.

As soon as the touchdown is announced, I see there're thirty seconds left on the clock. Our pathetic defense team is going to need to hold off the other team from scoring for the next half a minute. I know that's not normally a lot to ask, but these guys are playing awful.

I know exactly who needs to go and who should stay. It's pretty fucking obvious, but Coach Thompson doesn't seem to see the value my opinion carries.

This game should be the wake-up call he needs. I can only hope, when he's watching the replays this evening he sees where we're weak and presses to get the defense in shape.

The whistle blows and I watch the sad sacks try to hold off the Jets' offense. It's a fight, something it shouldn't be. This game should be won and done, but if we didn't suck so much, they wouldn't have a prayer.

Thankfully, our guys manage to keep the Jets out of scoring position for thirty seconds and we're able to go home winners, even though we didn't play anywhere near our best.

Everyone else on the team is celebrating, while I'm shaking my head.

"Why are you such an asshole?" Johnson asks, taking off his helmet.

"Because they gave me a shitty team."

"If it's so shitty, why don't you ask to be traded?"

"You don't think I have?"

He just shakes his head, chest bumping Collins.

"Cullen, sign your autographs, then hit the showers. We need you out front for the press," Coach Thompson yells.

I roll my eyes and head toward the tunnel.

"Coach, are you sure you want Cullen for that?" Black asks.

"Yeah, they're going to want him. He won the game."

I grin, hearing those words. There's nothing quite like tasting the sweetness of victory, especially when it's rubbed in Black's face.

Jake pushes past me, bumping my shoulder as he goes, and I don't let it affect me because there're hordes of fans waiting to meet me. They don't pay to see that side. They want Edward Cullen, the football superstar.

I slap on a smile and go greet them all.

After mugging for pictures and signing a few autographs, I head into the locker room, stripping into a towel and walking to my shower.

The hot water pours all over me and I close my eyes. I take a few minutes to enjoy the steam, trying to get into a better headspace, before I have to go in front of the cameras.

After dressing in a track suit and donning my team hat, I walk out and wait for Coach Thompson to go over talking points. This is what he does. He wants to make sure we say all the right things to make the team look good as a whole, even though it was me who won the game.

"I think you should just stick to the game. If anything else comes up, simply say: no comment."

"Especially, if they ask about contract settlements," Alice, my tiny PR woman, chimes in.

"Of course," I answer, glaring at her.

"And make everyone look good so the world thinks of you as a team player," she adds with a pointed look.

"What Ms. Brandon said," Coach says, nodding.

"Be honest, too. They eat that shit up," Alice comments, as we reach the door.

I shake my head as I'm practically pulled out the door into the crosshairs of media. They're everywhere, and more than ready to cut you at the knees. All the reporters are shouting my name, and I can't tell them all apart. That's what the handlers are for; one of them figures out who's got a good question and the other one drags their ass to the front.

"Cullen, what do you think was the ultimate reason for the win today?"

Pursing my lips, I reply, "I think it was my superior knowledge out on the field; there's nothing quite like it."

Another reporter is pulled aside. "How did you decide to make that Hail Mary pass today?"

"My gut—I'm telling you, I know the game and I know it well. If I didn't take my chance right then and there, we wouldn't have won."

"What do you think were the major flaws?"

I take a moment to collect my thoughts. "I think, more than anything, it was the lack of discipline with our greener players. I also think the coaches are to blame. They let us off easy during the pre-season and I'm not too happy about that."

There're comments from reporters in the crowd; I can only hope they're getting all I've got to say because the rest of the team needs to wake up.

"Edward, do you think the turnover that happened, while the ball was in your hands, is your fault?"

I narrow my eyes at the prick. "Absolutely not! That's why the other guys are out there. They're supposed to be protecting my blind side. McCarty, left tackle, needs to step up and get moving a little quicker." I pause, taking a breath. I think it's only fair to explain the game to these fools. "If I didn't get sacked, there wouldn't have been a turnover."

Frustrated and on the brink of being furious, I stand up and end the conference. I don't feel as though I owe anyone any explanation. The coaches put me out here to give them a show, I think I've done that.

Hopping in my car, I screw out of the parking and head for my home. I need to go recharge, and I hope Maria has made something tasty for us tonight. I'm exhausted and a good, hearty meal is exactly what I need after that bullshit.

My phone starts blaring from my pocket, and I roll my eyes when I see Alice's name appear on the screen. I press my hands-free button and wait for the car to answer.

"What on God's green Earth was that shit out there, Cullen?" Alice screeches through the phone.

"Me, being honest."

"Dammit, Edward! If everyone on the team doesn't already hate you, they sure as shit are going to now."

"I can handle myself, Alice."

"I tend to think you can't, since you just went on National television and made an ass out of yourself."

"No. That's where you're wrong. The team made an ass out of themselves. They played like shit, and if it wasn't for me, we wouldn't have won."

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph you're truly full of yourself, aren't you?"

"If being honest is being full of myself, then I'm guilty. Sorry about that."

"Moving on, we need to do a massive cleanup for this shit."

I sigh audibly, gripping the wheel, as I try to rein in what I really want to say.

"Cullen, are you there?"

"Yes," I grit out.

"I'm going to book you an appearance on one of those feel-good morning shows."

"Christ Alice, I don't want to be part of that."

"Too bad. You come off looking like an asshole and I have to clean up after your elephant-sized dump."

I sigh again.

"I'll call you with the details. Make sure you're ready for what I've got coming for you."

I hum out something that sounds as though I'm agreeing with her. I can't imagine what kind of hell she has planned, but fuck that, I'm not a pony show.

Alice has a way of making me feel ridiculous with her ideas of media support. I hate the media, they're disgusting vermin that belong in the dumpster with their publications. For now, though, I need to make nice, and Alice, I'm sure, is going to guarantee that happens.

Stepping on the gas, I race home. I just want to be in the confines of my house, away from prying eyes and cameras. It's a little disturbing what lengths those bastards will go through to get their shot.

Once the gate is open, I walk inside my beautiful, pristine, white house, ready to relax for the night. 'Cause I've earned it.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you for the support! I'd like to give a hearty shout out to Midnight Cougar, WiltshireGlo, and Cared! Without Midnight Cougar, I wouldn't have ever finished just the first chapter. I love you woman!<strong>

I'll see you all soon for some more NFLward and Motoward!

**xox**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"And Edward Cullen throws the game winning touchdown pass to Paul Lahote!" the TV announcer exclaims, as they play a recap clip of last Sunday's game.

I grin and take another shovel of eggs. They're fucking delicious, and I deserve to take a moment to enjoy them.

"Edward, don't you need to leave?" Maria—my housekeeper and substitute mother—asks after glancing at the clock.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Didn't you see that play?"

She raises her eyebrows at me and frowns. I swear, she just doesn't get how amazing I am out there on the field. Sometimes I wish she could appreciate it as much as I do.

"Fine, I'll leave now," I tell her, grabbing one more scoop of eggs, pushing the plate away. "It was a good play, though."

She nods. "Yes it was, dear."

I give her a quick hug and see myself to the door. I know today's practice is going to be rigorous, so I try to amp myself up with some good music to get my blood pumping.

Some heavy metal always seems to do the trick. It also helps me zone in to what's important, as I sit in Boston traffic. One of the things I loathe the most about living here.

I drive up to the stadium, park in my personal spot, throw off my sunglasses, and waltz inside.

Strolling down the hallway to practice, I take some deep breaths and try to keep my temper down. Maria reminded me this morning, I need to tamp down my inner anger. She says I fire off too quick, and one day it's going to get me in big trouble. I tend to agree with whatever she says, since she's really a wealth of knowledge, and has never led me astray in the past.

I walk in and join the locker chatter. Seth is regaling a tawdry tale of what he did Sunday evening.

"I don't think I can sleep with her again," Seth admits, making a face.

I can't help but chuckle, since he'll basically sleep with anything that walks.

"C'mon man, you can't be serious? She's a ten!" Whitlock complains, grabbing his ear.

"I know, but you should hear some of the sounds she makes." He visibly shudders as he finishes that statement; obviously remembering.

I raise an eyebrow in question; I, myself, have always loved when women make sounds in bed. "It usually means you're doing something right, numbnuts!"

"I know I'm doing something right." He smirks. "It's not my fault she sounds like an ape on the verge of death every time we fuck."

I shrug. Noises, even some weird ones, don't usually bother me. Though, the girl has to be a knock out for me to deal with the real unusual ones.

"Have you tried pushing her face into the mattress? It might make the noise less noticeable."

"No, but I might try that."

"Good, because a decent fuck is never something you want to give up," I declare proudly. Being a football superstar gets you plenty of tail, but it's not always premium. These days, I hold out for the excellent, 'Grade A' ass.

"Good point," Seth agrees, suiting up.

"I know," I retort, doing the same.

After slipping on my practice uniform and gear, I stop to throw on my cleats.

Getting up from the bench and walking over to get a bottle of water, I feel how sore my ankle is and catch myself on my attempt to stabilize.

"Cullen, what's going there?" Offensive Coach Peters asks, motioning to my obvious limp.

"I rolled it when I got sacked Sunday."

"Get your ass in PT right now... I can't have you making it any worse!"

"Okay, I'm going," I answer with a nod.

Coach is always such a friggin' worrier. Though, as I move across the locker room to the hallway that leads to PT, my ankle is getting a little sore. I guess I never realized how bad I hurt it on Sunday; either that or I couldn't bring myself to care. If I hadn't been out on that field, we wouldn't have had a chance at victory.

Entering the doctor's office-like-room, I see a familiar face, Carlisle—Dr. Carlisle Stregone Benefico, our in-house Sports Medicine Doctor and Physiotherapist.

"Hey, man," I greet him.

"Edward," he says happily, jutting out his hand for a shake. I pull him into a bro hug. I've known this man for many years and he's the perfect person to go to if you have an ailment. "What brings you here?"

I wince and lift my ankle.

"Ah, is it just tender or do you think it's worse than that?"

"I'm not sure? It's pretty sore."

"All right; my intern, Bella, is going to check it out and give us a report. I'll be right here, making sure everything goes well, but she needs the experience."

"Okay," I answer, wondering what homely bitch he has hiding in the other room. The female physical therapists I've come across in my life haven't exactly been tens.

Carlisle leaves for a moment before coming back in with the girl.

"Edward, this is Bella," Carlisle introduces his new intern.

"Hey," I greet, giving her my best smile.

She smiles sweetly and then she and Carlisle get down to work. "He says it's tender in here."

Bella nods, then takes her small hands and begins to examine my ankle. As she's looking at it, I can finally see her face; I don't know why, but I begin to examine it much as she's examining me.

Her long, brown hair is tied back in a ponytail, and her face is on full display. She has big, brown eyes that, despite the color, are quite beautiful. As she stares at my ankle, pushing gently here and there, I wonder what she's doing here, working for us as a physiotherapist, even if she's merely an intern.

"Looks like a sprain with a bit of inflammation," she announces, more to Carlisle than to me. "Would like me to wrap it, Dr. Benefico?"

"Certainly, Bella. I think you're spot on."

"Great," she says, getting up from her knees, where there were more than one or two lovely thoughts floating through my mind. She comes back with an ACE bandage in hand.

"It's so great you know how to properly wrap an ankle," I tell her; honestly surprised she knows how to do anything.

"Really?" she questions, looking a little curious.

"Well, yeah. I don't know what vocational schools are teaching nowadays."

"You think I went to a vocational school?"

"Well, didn't you?"

"No, darling," she answers, then begins to wrap my ankle. "I went to nursing school and then decided to broaden my horizons with physiotherapy, so I could work with _people_ like…you."

"Gotcha."

She nods and continues to wrap my ankle a little too tight.

"Jesus," I wince, as she gets to the end.

"It's okay. It needs to be tight to support you and your head," Bella tells me, but I don't know what about my head, my ankle needs to support. It probably has something to do with the alignment.

I look over to Carlisle for some reassurance and he nods with a small smile. I go with it, since I know Carlisle would never steer me wrong. Certainly not when there's a game just around the corner.

"Okay, stand on it and do a lap around the room," she instructs, after she steps back.

I do as she asks.

"How's the pain?"

"Not bad."

"Good. Doc will agree on this with me, you should ice it after practice then put it up tonight before you go to bed."

I wink at her after she says "go to bed" because dammit, I'm picturing her there. She doesn't seem to be affected, though. I may need to pull out the big guns to get her attention. Either that or listen in to see if she's already banging someone else on the team.

"Yes, Edward, that's exactly what I would recommend."

"Okay, will do," I promise them, heading back toward the locker room.

"Doc, does he get the okay to practice?" Peters asks Carlisle.

"Yes, I think if he goes easy, he should be fine for practice. The game may be another story, though."

"All right. Cullen, out on the field."

I nod and do as Coach instructs.

Practice is rather underwhelming, thanks to my now sore ankle. I watch as the other guys also perform in various lackluster ways. The offense is at least keeping up the speed they need, but the defense is showing no hope.

Jacob Black is one of the worst; he's making a fool of himself, and it looks pathetic for this level of football.

I keep my mouth closed on the field, but when we get in the locker room, I plan to tell them exactly what I think.

I throw a few more tosses through the hoop, trying to work on my form, since I can't run yards today.

"Cullen, I need you and McCarty to work together," Coach yells.

I nod, willing to do whatever is needed to make this team better.

"Whitlock, throw it to Cullen. McCarty block his side and Black, run it, but don't tackle if you get to him."

We all go on three and run the practice play that Coach wants. It's a mini simulation of a much larger play. Coach wants us to work on blocking technique and foot work. Both of which are very important in the sport.

McCarty doesn't bother blocking; he stands off to the side, and I fumble. It's ridiculous.

"Emmett, get your head out of your ass or you'll be riding the bench!" Coach shouts.

We go on three again, after I send McCarty a look that could kill. He seems to get it, positioning himself quickly after the ball is put in play. But Black _weak arms_ him and doesn't even move Emmett.

Again, another pathetic show. We're trying to work on our foot work, something we can't do without Black actually pushing for yards. And when I look over at Coach, he seems as disappointed as I am; standing there shaking his head.

"Black, are you playing football or ballet?" Coach asks, not one hint of a joking tone to his voice.

Jake just grumbles back at Coach Peters, who tells us to go again. We reset, and this time McCarty is where he's supposed to be. But Black still doesn't push for shit, even though he appears to be throwing his weight into Emmett.

"All right break!" Coach shouts, clearly annoyed.

I try to shake it off, but we look sloppy because of the defense, and they need to shape up. When practice is over, I march into the locker room with an agenda.

"You need to push harder," I tell Black pointedly, knowing he's not going to like my words. It's the truth, though.

"Who the fuck are you to comment on my pushing stats?"

"I'm what makes the goddamn team. I don't have three Super Bowl rings for nothing."

"You're a conceited prick!"

"You're a pussy. My grandmother could push harder than you and Uley."

"Fuck you!"

I get up in his face. "You wanna say that again?"

"Yeah. Fuck. You," he spits each word.

I can't take it and haul off and punch the little shit. Someone needs to keep this shithead in check.

He throws a right hook, but I duck.

"Cullen! My office now!" Coach Peters shouts.

I grab Black by his shirt. "You're a useless piece of shit."

He just shakes his head and pushes me away, knowing there're too many eyes watching for him to get away with anything.

I shrug and follow Coach to the tiny room he calls an office. Slumping down into the seat in front of his desk, I get ready for him to yell and curse at me.

"Cullen, this behavior isn't acceptable," he begins, with a reprimanding tone I don't care for at all.

"I don't see what's wrong with pointing out where a fellow teammate is lacking."

"It's not your job."

"Bullshit. Taking care of the team is my job. Both offense and defense, if someone is playing like shit, I need to nip it in the bud."

Coach Peters clears his throat. "Edward, while I appreciate your keen eye on the field, I would prefer you come to me with your observations."

I shake my head and grit my teeth in frustration. "You can't see the writing on the wall, can you?"

"What is that supposed to mean, Cullen?"

"You can't honestly see how shitty this team is getting?"

He throws his hands up before going out of the office. I don't personally see what he's so upset over, maybe it's the fact he's realized how blind he's been to the performance of the team.

A few minutes later, in walks Coach Peters, but with Coach Thompson and the team owner, Alistair. I roll my eyes; I don't know what the fuck they want, but this can't be good.

"Edward, I hear we're having an issue?" Alistair asks, in his I-want-to-please-everyone way.

"Not that I know of."

"Oh, c'mon, Cullen... You're over here starting fights with teammates over silly shit," Peters chimes in.

"I didn't start the fight."

"Either way Edward, something has to change," Coach Thompson declares. "I think a two game suspension will work."

Alistair frowns, and I can see he's not happy about the thought. "Whoa now, I don't think we need to go that far, do we?"

Thompson gives him a skeptical look. "I think two games is more than fair."

"Coach Thompson, what you have to understand is that Edward here sells tickets. He puts fans in the seats, and while Sunday's incident wasn't a great representation of him, Cullen is a vital part of our team."

I smile at Alistair's words.

"That may be true, but we need to punish his ass and improve his reputation," Coach Peters tells him.

"All right, how about this. Let's get his PR person on the line. Talk to them about volunteering," Alistair suggests, then nods in my direction, clearly trying to get me to agree with him, though I have no desire to do so.

Faster than I can say _hut_, the three of them get Alice on the phone and they're already discussing options. Options regarding volunteering. Just thinking about the word leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

"I think we can change the public's vision of him with a few key volunteering spots," Alice tells them.

"But we can't interrupt game time," Alistair chimes in.

"Nor can he miss practices or workouts," Peters adds.

"How about the hospital on his off days?"

"That works for us," the three of them agree, nodding at each other while staring at the phone.

"I think his persona will be flipped around when the public sees him working with children. I mean, who doesn't love that shit? First, though, we need a blood drive. He needs to be front and center. Boston hospitals have been bitching left and right about a blood shortage. If he hosts a blood drive, he'll look like a damn hero. Then, we'll show him working with kids and maybe a food pantry or something."

"I love it," Alistair declares, finally turning his attention to me. "Does this work for you or would you rather be suspended for two games?"

"I'll take the volunteering," I grit out.

"Good. Alice, get everything settled so we can clean up this mess—pronto. Cullen, you need to apologize to your team."

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I heard you correctly."

"I'm serious. Not only did you hit a fellow player, but you completely discredited almost everyone else on the team. You need to show remorse or you're going to get your ass handed to you on Sunday."

"Fine, I'll apologize to the team," I acquiesce, but roll my eyes.

"It should be public, Alistair," Alice states, rearing her ugly head from the speaker phone.

"I agree."

I throw my hands up and just as I'm about to open my mouth to argue, Peters jumps in.

"It's either: an apology and volunteering, or we bench you for two weeks and tell everyone what you're really like, Cullen."

"Jesus Christ, you really know where to hit me on that one."

Coach Thompson cocks his head. "Well, son, it's not as though it's not deserved."

"Fine. When are we doing a press conference?"

"Before the next game," Alice explains, in giddy tone. "You'll look like a gosh darn hero."

"Oh, goody," I grumble.

Shortly after all the details are worked out, I'm sent on my way. As I reach my car I see Bella heading for hers, too. "Hey," I yell.

She waves politely, coming over to stand in front of me. "How's the ankle?"

"I think it'll be okay."

"Good, wouldn't want you to hurt anything else. Like your ego."

"Thanks," I reply with a sly smile.

"You're welcome, Cullen," she simply says, turning around, heading back to her car before adding over her shoulder, "Oh, and one other piece of advice..."

"Yeah?"

"You're getting old. Don't kill your reputation now."

I shake my head and scoff, getting into my car and buzzing out of the parking lot.

_I'm not getting old._

* * *

><p><strong><em>Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! A HUGE thanks to Midnight Cougar and Wiltshireglo! And Stacee, I love you! <em>**

**_Question: How much do you hate this jerk? _**

**_Fair warning, it's only going to get worse before it gets better. _**

**_:) _**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Edward dear, it's time to get up," I hear, but roll over trying to escape the fact I need to get up.

Once I'm in the darkness, under my pillow, everything is wonderful again.

"Edward, honey, you really need to get up."

"Five more minutes," I mumble, slipping back into a sweet sleep.

"Edward!"

I nearly jump out of my skin, sitting up. "What, Maria?"

"It's time for you to get up," she snaps, handing me a towel and nearly pushing me into the bathroom.

"Okay, I'm up," I grumble, reluctantly going into the bathroom to begin getting ready for the day.

As I'm in the shower, I remember today's going to be a sense of torture. I have to volunteer.

Shaking my head at just the thought, I turn up the shower even further. The scalding water helps me forget about everything.

After a nice, hot and relaxing shower, I give myself a quick shave, wanting to maintain the five o'clock shadow women love. Dressing in a Dior suit, slipping on some wing tip shoes and one of my Cartier watches. A spritz of cologne, and I'm as ready as I'll ever be.

Trudging down to breakfast, I see Maria pouring cereal and setting a plate of toast next to it.

"This is it?" I wonder, plopping down in a chair.

"Yes, it is. You wouldn't get your butt out of bed and I don't want you to be late."

"Not even coffee?"

She brings over a steaming mug. "You honestly think I'd forget the coffee?"

"I don't know."

"If you got up earlier, you would've had a full breakfast."

I roll my eyes. "I'm sure being a few minutes late won't hurt."

"Edward, eat your food. You have a very important day today."

I wave her off. She might think it's important, but I sure as hell don't. All the coaches and Alice want is to parade me around and look sorry for my sins. Though, I don't believe I actually fucked up anywhere.  
>"I want you go in to today with the right mindset."<p>

I hum out something that sounds as though I'm agreeing with her.

"Really, Edward, volunteering your time and effort can be one of the most rewarding things in the world."

I give her a look, devouring a spoonful of cereal.

"I'm serious, some of the most meaningful times in my life have revolved around volunteering."

I cock my head to the side, taking a bite of toast. "Maria, you can't possibly be serious. There's nothing remotely interesting about wasting your entire day for other people."

She frowns, looking rather unimpressed with my words, but hey, they're the truth. I don't sugarcoat shit.

"Fine, you can believe what you want, but the big guy up there," she says, pointing above her, "he likes when you volunteer. He fills your heart with joy and happiness. Lord knows you could use some of that right about now."

I shake my head.

"Edward, a lot of people depend on a food pantry. They don't have anything else."

"Yeah, I know. I'm helping out. Isn't that enough?"

"Not with that kind of attitude."

I scowl at her, slurping up the rest of my cereal and grabbing my coat.

"Remember there're going to be a lot eyes on you today. Try to be on your best behavior."

"Will do. Wish me luck!"

"I do," she calls. "A lot of luck."

With that I hop in my sleek red Audi R8 and hit the pedal. I know I need to be there on time, but a glance at the clock tells me I'll be hearing an earful from Alice later.

I roll into the parking lot of the food pantry. Alice's first slice of torture for me. She claims this will be a good way to show I'm human, though I don't know what else I could be. Cameras are lined up all over and there're shit loads of media outlets ready to cover the story, which is pretty impressive.

I park far away from the crowd because I don't want my pretty baby to get scratched. I don't know what it is about them, but I love Audis; they're fucking amazing to drive. And a scratch would only mar the beautiful exterior. There's no need for that.

Walking over to the crowd, I try to do my best to pose for all the pictures and even attempt to give them the spiel they want.

"Edward, what brings you to the Mustard Seed Food Pantry today?" one of them asks.

"Well, I want to help out," I answer plainly, trying to give them the grin they're looking for.

"You're donating?" another shouts.

My brows furrow. _Donating? Yeah my time and energy. _"Yes, I'm donating valuable resources."

"Wonderful. Is it food? Water?"

I shake my head as I see Paul Lahote walking out of the door. It looks as though he's been here for a while. "I'm donating my time."

Paul scrunches up his face at my answer.

"What did you donate?"

"Twenty-five thousand dollars for the food pantry to use however they see fit."

I nod, trying not to scowl on TV, but Paul is doing one hell of a job of making me look bad. "I'll be matching that and adding to it," I tell them, to which there's happiness from everyone. That's when we're called to get to work.

I see the cameras following us and I make sure I slap on a smile. I want to ensure everyone thinks I'm happy doing this shit, so I don't have to do it again.

Inside, I feel claustrophobic. There's a cold feeling and it's not the temperature. There're homeless people staring at me, everywhere. One of the worker ladies, Sarah, lines me up and tells me how much to give.

"Remember just an even scoop of each. We need enough to go around."

I give her a skeptical look. There's no way there isn't more food in the back they can make up. "Okay."

"Seriously, we won't have enough for the dinner crowd."

_Dinner crowd?_

Jesus, these people need to get jobs so they can stop relying on places like this.

"Okay, I got it," I answer, showing her I have one even scoop.

She nods, then goes over to Lahote and instructs him to do the same.

"I know, I remember," he tells her, giving her a bright smile.

_Has he done this shit before?_ It makes me wonder what kind of trouble this kid has gotten himself into to know the rules and ways of the food pantry.

Then the people begin to line up. The line gets really long, and as I'm doling out food, I'm wondering when I'll be able to leave.

It doesn't look as if that's going to happen any time soon.

I look over at Paul as we're rationing out the food. He seems into it, smiling and greeting everyone who comes to get a piece of meat. I don't know how he can do it; pretending to happy, or at least comfortable, is not a strong suit of mine.

"How long 'til this is over?" I whisper to him.

He looks at me as if I have two heads and goes back to scooping food.

"Don't you think it's boring?"

He shakes his head and responds with a derisive tone in his voice. "No, I actually enjoy my time here, Edward. I just wish it wasn't overshadowed by media attention or you, for that matter."

I give him a look, then turn back to the people in front of me. There's no way they care I'm here dishing up food for them. I'm sure they would rather have someone else here.

The day is long and I'm pretty tired when Sarah tells us the lunch crowd is done. Paul offers to stay for the dinner crowd, but I inform her I can't.

I'm needed at my contractually obligated workout session and if I don't make it there, they'll dock my pay and possibly bench me for a game. I sure as hell don't want that.

"Thank you for volunteering your time, Mr. Cullen," she says with a small smile, shaking my hand.

"You're welcome. And a generous check will be on the way for the pantry."

"That's wonderful."

"No problem," I return, turning and leaving.

The cameras are there to catch my exit, and I give them a few nice poses and even a goofy one, pointing to the sign on the outside of the building, before hopping in my car and getting the hell out of there.

As I'm racing down the road to the stadium, my phone starts blowing up like crazy. I peek to see it's Alice and send her to voicemail. I don't want to hear from her right now. Especially, not after the vile torture she put me through today.

_Fucking bitch… _

I swear, if she had her way, she'd parade me around in front of every sob-story organization there is. She's ridiculous like that—her PR methods suck shit.

Walking into the workout room, I see most of my teammates, and while I want to catch up with them, I know I need to change and get my ass in gear.

"Edward, you need to get signed off from Dr. Benefico before your workout," Coach Peters informs me.

"Okay, will do."

I slip on the rest of my warm-up clothes and hang up my suit carefully. I want to make sure it still looks good for when I leave. I'm sure there will be a few cameras then, too.

Putting on sneakers, I walk down the hallway and knock on Carlisle's door.

When it opens, though, Carlisle is nowhere to be found.

"Hey," I greet the dark-haired beauty.

"Hi, Cullen. What can I do for you today?"

"I, um, need to have my ankle signed off on before I can go workout."

"Okay, sit up here," she instructs, motioning toward the table.

"What about Carlisle?"

"He's in the back working on Johnson. I can take care of this for you."

"Are you sure you're qualified?" I ask, giving her a look.

"Yes, I can assure you I'm qualified to look at your ankle and assess you for workout."

I can sense, in her tone, she doesn't like to be questioned, but I doubt she understands the magnitude of the situation. My body is my life and without it I would be nothing. I certainly can't risk an ankle injury.

I sit up on the table and wait for her to look it over. She kneels down and my mind is flooded with all sorts of fantasies. This woman is gorgeous, I've come to realize, but is so different from what I usually like. I prefer blondes, especially ones who look like supermodels.

Her delicate hands remove my sneaker and sock, before she takes my foot and thoroughly inspects. She begins testing the range of movement at the ankle. Then she presses on it, feeling for tender spots, and judging my reaction.

After she's done, and I'm fully captivated by her inspection, she announces her verdict. "I think you should wrap it for the workout and stay away from anything where there's a potential you're going to strain it—like running or heavy pressure."

"Okay," I agree easily. I should probably ask more questions, but she seems confident in what I need to do and she appeared to know what she was looking for when she was inspecting the ankle.

"I'll get a wrap and be right back."

I nod and try to wait patiently on the cold, metal table.

When she comes back, she's smiling and it's beautiful, something I haven't yet had the privilege to see. It would look even better beneath me in a bed.

"Foot up please," she requests, and I happily give her my foot.

She begins wrapping up my ankle, and I look at her as she works diligently. "Bella, did you know you're beautiful?"

She looks up and scowls at me.

"Really, though. I bet a lot of men are after you."

"It's not something I discuss at work," she replies, wrapping my foot a little tighter than the other day.

"You're phenomenal at your job," I add.

She purses her lips. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. I just meant, you have so many wonderful qualities, I'm curious if you've found a man worthy of all you have to offer."

She gives me a look that tells me she's not biting.

"Again, I'm not discussing this at work. Can you take a lap around the room for me?"

"Sure," I huff, seeing I'm going to have to pull out all the stops to get this chick underneath me. I'm not even sure if she's worth it.

I hobble around the room with my too-tight brace; she tells me to hop back up on the seat and adjusts it a bit, clearly knowing it was a little too snug.

After that, she sends me on my way.

Working out isn't one of my favorite activities, but it is part of my contract, and since my body is my life there's no better way to keep it useful than training it.

Coach instructs me to keep it light, since my ankle is still at risk, but I always feel the need to break a sweat. There's something inside me that dislikes working out so much, I need to make a workout worth it to be able to do it all the time.

I start arms, working easy and taking breaks, but Coach likes me to go heavy on my legs. It makes us faster, leaner. Something every good quarterback needs.

"Hey, was that you on the news?" Seth asks, as I switch machines.

"Yeah, I was at the food pantry this morning."

Seth chuckles and shakes his head.

"Good job fucking up something awesome, Cullen!" Black shouts.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"The food pantry doesn't want any of us back because you made the people there feel alienated."

"The fuck?"

"Yeah Cullen, you're a dick!" Black yells.

I drop my weights and walk over to him, but Coach Peters is already stepping between us. "Boys, get back to work, or I'll have both of your asses riding wood next game."

"Fine by me," Black tells him. "I wasn't the asshole, anyway."

I clench my fists, but keep them by my side.

"Cullen, come with me, we need to talk."

I grumble out something that sounds like I'm acknowledging the bastard, but I want nothing more than to go over there and kick the ever-loving shit out of Black.

Coach Peters takes me back to his office for the second time in a week and I'm really starting to despise this man. He doesn't understand that Black is nothing more than a jacked kid who liked to play with balls when he was younger. He doesn't know the first thing about blocking and he's a shitty example of someone getting a free ride because he's big.

"Have a seat," Coach tells me more than asks.

I take a seat in front of his desk and wait for the onslaught I'm sure is coming.

"Edward, we need to talk about your behavior."

"What about it?" I snap. If anyone needs an attitude adjustment it's Black. He thinks he's holier-than-thou and it's a pile of bullshit.

"I know this isn't my concern, but everything comes back on the team when one of us looks like a jackass."

I glare at him.

"What happened this morning?"

"At the food pantry?"

He nods.

"I went and shoveled out food with Lahote."

"Did you at least pretend to be happy there?"

I shrug.

"That's what I thought. The pantry called Alistair and informed him they don't want any more footballers from our team coming their way."

Again, I shrug, because I certainly didn't do anything that fucking warranted getting the entire team banned from volunteering at that god-awful place.

"Your behavior was so far from remorseful that it actually made the people, who seek out a place like the food pantry, not want to go there."

"I did no such thing. I dished out slop, smiled pretty for the pictures, offered a generous donation, and even talked to the media."

He nods. "I know exactly what you did and I'm not impressed Edward. I set up with you to meet with Ms. Brandon before your next volunteering appearance. If your attitude doesn't change, Alistair has given me permission to bench you. From there, we may think of ditching you."

"You couldn't afford to fire me."

"Me, no. The team, yes. We don't need someone like you around if this is your attitude. You may be good out on the field, but you're a shit that needs to be knocked down a few pegs, and I'm going to be just the guy to do it."

I roll my eyes.

"Mark my words, Cullen. Your ass is grass and I'm the lawnmower. Change your ways or I'm lowering the blade."

I wave him off. "Are we done here?"

"Yes, you can go for the day. I'm marking you as absent from the workout and it's going to cost you."

"What the hell?"

"You can't seem to keep your cool during a workout. I'm not letting you stay here with Black. End of story. Like I said, change your attitude."

"It's not just me," I complain.

"It may not be, but until I can see past your glaringly obvious attitude issue, you're getting faulted for it. Now go home and cool off. Come back when you're ready to focus on anything but yourself."

"Fine."

"Oh, and Ms. Brandon said she will be meeting with you tonight."

"When and where?" I question, completely unaware of the meeting.

"She said she had her ways of finding you," he answers nonchalantly, "and to be ready."

_What the fuck?!_

I throw my hands up and walk out of the asshole's office, stopping at my locker to grab my clothes, not even bothering to change before leaving.

There are days when I am just beyond sick of this place.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you so much for reading and reviewing!<strong>

**He's an asshole, right? I would tell you to buckle up, but hell, you know me. And you know how I write already! So I'm going to tell you to sit back and relax! Enjoy the ride! **

**As always thanks to Midnight Cougar and Wiltshireglo for all your help and dedication to this! **

**If anyone read and liked Reconnecting Roads as a fic and doesn't know, I published it as The Long Road Home. It can now be found on Amazon. I'm offering a little deal, if you would like to leave me a review on The Long Road Home on either Amazon or Goodreads I'll send you a juicy teaser from Offensive Maneuvers. Thanks guys! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Alice, what are you doing here?" I question as I walk into my house, which is supposed to be a sanctuary. It's supposed to be where I feel at peace, not a place where I want to kill everyone around me.

"I'm trying to piece together what little career you have left," she spits.

"Being a little dramatic, aren't we? I'm a fantastic athlete. A little misstep with something as useless as this volunteering bullshit is nothing."

"Edward, you fucked up so bad today that I don't know if there's coming back from it," she informs me.

"How exactly did I fuck up?" I ask, glaring at her.

"First off, you showed up in that ridiculous car. Where was your brain this morning? Then, you didn't even bring a donation, and when you were asked about one, you fumbled. And lastly, reports from the shelter workers are that it was obvious you didn't want to be there and made the people there feel out of place. What the hell?" She ticks them off on her fingers. She might be tiny, but she's mighty.

"Isn't your job to figure out what I can and cannot handle?"

"Yes, but you're also supposed to put in some effort when you fuck up. You were supposed to go out in public and redeem your shitty qualities."

"Alice, I _didn't want_ to be there. It was a nice thought, but I'm not that kind of guy. Write a fucking check, send it their way, but I don't want to dish out food ever again."

"Oh, don't worry about it; we've been cordially uninvited from ever volunteering there again."

"It's not my fault," I tell her, because it simply isn't. Maria shakes her head. "And what are you shaking your head for?"

"Don't ever take that tone with me again, young man," Maria reprimands me with a look that could kill. I sigh and try to calm myself down. All I need is for her to leave. That would wreck everything. "And the reason why I'm shaking my head is because I can't believe the words that are coming out of your mouth."

"Why not?"

"Because, according to the all holy Edward Cullen, you take responsibility when you fuck up, at least that's what you rant about to your teammates. And let me tell you, you fucked up!" Maria scolds, poking me in the chest, red-faced.

My eyes widen at her cursing; she is seriously pissed at me. I lightly take her hands and put them by her side. "Fine, maybe I didn't give it my all, but this shit isn't really my thing."

"Well, I think you need to make it your thing," Maria and Alice both inform me in unison.

I cock my head to the side and wait for them to shed some brilliant light on their reasoning.

"Edward, you need to pull your reputation out of the toilet," Alice declares.

"And you want to be taken seriously on the field, right? You want your coaches to listen to you?" Maria wonders.

"Yeah," I answer, because I do. I don't know why they're so thick and won't listen to a damn thing I tell them when it's clearly right in front of their faces.

"Well, then you need to change your attitude. You're not the best footballer out there anymore," Maria enlightens me, looking me in the eye.

I give her a side glance as the words leave her mouth.

"You're still good, but you have to be decent to people along the way, or you're going to get labeled as the asshole of football," she recovers.

"I've never not been honest with people."

"No, but your _honesty_, is a little in your face for people," Alice explains.

"What do you want me to do? Sugarcoat the fucking nonsense every time I speak?"

"It's not that we want that, but I'm afraid the coaches are really going to get fed up with the shit and move on if you don't change your attitude. Hell, they aren't going to want to deal with an antagonistic player, when they can get somebody who's easier to deal with, cheaper."

"They wouldn't dare get rid of me."

"That's not what Rose has been muttering about."

"Why is my agent muttering about anything?" I question the tiny woman.

"Because of how your rep looks; she's afraid they're going to cut bait and take the loss." She gives me a pointed look. "No one is indispensable, Edward."

"No way," I refute, shaking my head.

"It's not my words." Alice puts up her hands defensively. "It's just how things are looking right now."

"Jesus Christ!" I growl, slamming my fist down on the table.

"Edward, don't shout," Maria chastises.

"Sorry," I grumble, feeling lost. I don't know what I would do if the team tossed my ass. Though, I'm sure with my talent I could find another team to sign with. Maybe, one that would respect my point of view on the players.

"Hey!" Alice yells, snapping me out of my own head.

"What?"

"Getting dropped from the team wouldn't be a good thing," Alice reminds me. "I don't care how good Rose is, she wouldn't be able to work a deal for what you get paid now. There wouldn't be any leverage."

I shrug.

"You like that fancy car you drove to the food bank?" Maria asks me.

"Yes."

"Well, kiss it goodbye."

"I don't think it'll be that drastic," I tell her.

She shakes her head.

"Don't worry, we're not going anywhere. I'll try to be better," I promise Maria. Honestly, if it wasn't for her, I wouldn't give two shits about the team. They're terrible this season and the coaches are turning a blind eye to the obvious mistakes they're making. I'm sick of seeing it.

She nods, giving me a warm smile.

"When's my next set of torture scheduled for?" I ask Alice.

She pulls out her phone and starts clicking around. "It looks like Wednesday after practice. There's going to be a blood drive at the stadium. It's your job to look like a hero and encourage people to come out and donate. We're going to have you mention it during your press conference on Sunday."

"Oh, goody."

After Alice leaves, I walk into the kitchen to keep Maria company while she cooks us some dinner. I figure it's the least I can do after everything.

She begins putting a few onions into a pot and stirring them.

I take seat at the beautiful, white, Carrera marble island and watch the show. Maria is a very animated cook and I do enjoy watching her.

"You know, Edward, food pantries are very important," Maria comments.

I've had enough for the evening, though, and don't really want to hear any more about what happened at the damn food pantry. "I know they are," I acknowledge. "But that doesn't change the fact I don't belong in one."

She turns around and glares at me, throwing her hands up and switching off the burner. "Well, since you don't belong in one, feel free to fend for yourself for the evening!" she screeches, before storming off upstairs.

I growl, walking out myself. I head to the den where I have snacks; I guess that's my dinner for this evening.

The next few days whip by like a New England storm. Though, the time passed quickly, I did make time to apologize to Maria. She didn't deserve my words and I was a jerk to her. I shouldn't have ever done that to the woman who stands by me and cares for me.

Sunday morning arrives and instantly, as I wake up, I regret still being alive.

"Edward, I'm making eggs if you get your behind out of bed right now they'll be hot for you," Maria hollers.

I groan and finally roll out of bed, not one bit happy about what I have to do today. Maria's eggs are worth rolling out of bed early for, though.

"Coming," I call.

Maria makes the most delicious eggs and toast along with greasy but fantastic hash browns, and I take her hand, smiling at her. "Thank you for this."

"Don't worry about it, dear. I know you have to have a full belly to go to work."

I pull her into a hug before rushing upstairs to get ready. I'm so glad things are okay between us. She's not someone I can risk losing. Not after everything… I need her.

After a quick shower, I don a suit, glossy black dress shoes, and a new Rolex, brush my hair and spritz on a little cologne, before deeming myself ready for what's to come.

Maria calls me downstairs again; this time though, I wonder what it's for, since I'm still too full from breakfast for anymore of her delicious food.

"What are you doing here?" I ask Alice as she steps into the house; Maria is still in the kitchen ignoring my response.

She gives me a look. "I'm here to make sure you look good to the coaches and the rest of your team.

"To make sure I do?"

"Yes," she answers, as if it's nothing.

"I'm amazing, I don't need to look good to anyone. If they can't see my natural talent, then that's on them."

"I'm talking about the press conference, dumbass," she shouts, pulling me to the table and making me sit down.

"What about it? I'm just going to go up there and tell them I'm sorry for being honest about the conference last Sunday."

She purses her lips and shakes her head. "Nope. You're going to read from this—" she holds up a piece of paper "—or I'm going to resign from being your PR person."

"What the hell?"

"Listen Edward, I appreciate that you're a very good athlete—"

"I like to think excellent would be the word to describe me."

"Either way, we need you to work with us. We want you to keep your job."

"Okay," I finally acquiesce with a heavy sigh and look over the print out Alice slides in front of me. "You want me to say this?" I gesture to the paper.

"Yes, that's the intention."

"I'm going to look like an asshole."

"You already do."

I shake my head and take the paper with me. "I have to go or I'm going to be late."

She stops me briefly, looking in my eyes. "Just please read from the paper."

"Yeah," is all I respond, simply trying to get away to anywhere but here right now. Things are too much for me. I rush out to my car and blast the music as soon as my ass hits the seat. It's the only thing that keeps me sane in situations like this.

Pulling up to the stadium, I try to get my head centered, but this conference is throwing me. It's the last thing I need before we go up against one of our biggest rivals.

"Edward, over here," a wrangler calls.

I follow him and try to keep my thoughts to myself. He leads me over to where they're all set up for the conference. I smile and try to appear to be here on my own accord, even though this whole thing is a bunch of complete, unnecessary bullshit.

"Mr. Cullen is here to discuss a few points with you. He's not taking questions as he needs to prepare for the game ahead. Please respect the wishes of the New England Patriots," Coach Thompson announces.

"Thank you," I offer to him. In return, he gives me a look that tells me if I mess this up, I'll be paying for it. I desperately want to roll my eyes and tell him he'll never make playoff territory without me, but I rein it in.

Standing in front of everyone, I smile, trying to keep my cool, calm exterior. I clear my throat and take a deep breath to loosen up. "Thank you for joining me here, today."

The camera flashes, temporarily blinding me and I attempt to look away, but Alice's words resonate within me. I need to be focused on the crowd, make it appear my heart is in it.

"I've come here with a heavy heart. I want to apologize and explain my choice of words from last week. I was hyped up from the game and being far too critical on the players. They did their best and we won, that's what really matters. What we did, as a team, last Sunday was amazing, and I'm hoping we can repeat that success today."

There are rabid reporters looking as though they want to come over the fence and eat me alive for my words. So I mug for the cameras and try to give them a little show. I know that's what they want.

"Also, I would like to invite everyone to join me Wednesday afternoon for a much-needed blood drive. The surrounding cities are in desperate need of our donations and Gillette Stadium is gracious enough to hold the drive right here for us."

There're cheers from all around and the Coaches look pleased. I smile once again and wait.

A few moments later Coach Thompson is pulling me away. "How's the ankle?"

"Fine," I answer.

"Good. We're going to need you in top form, out on that field today."

I nod and continue to follow him.

Walking into the locker room, I try to get my head ready for the game, though I know it's going to be difficult.

Just as I'm slipping on my game day jersey, someone taps me on the back. I turn to see it's Lahote.

"What's up?" I wonder.

"We're cool," he declares.

"Cool?"

"Yeah, I saw the press conference. I know it wasn't your idea, but either way, I'm putting everything else behind us."

I nod, happy to hear the words. We bro hug, and he goes back to his area to keep getting ready.

The Coaches gather us together for a little pep talk. I know they want to hype us up, get us in the right headspace, and even give us a few parting words before we go out on the field.

"The Broncos, while a formidable opponent, they've taken some of our finest players. So we need to go out there and give them the New England welcome they deserve."

"You want us to kick their ass, right?" Johnson asks, clearly needing some clarification.

Coach Thompson nods. "Yes, son, that's exactly what I want... I want us to beat them to the point that the refs consider calling it a mercy win."

I chuckle and shake my head.

"You got something to add, Cullen?" Coach Thompson asks.

I stare at him for a moment before clearing my throat. "Actually, yes I do."

"And what do you have to say?"

"Just that I don't think it's going to be as easy of a win as you think it is."

"Oh?" Coach questions.

"The Broncos are good this season. Peyton has been pulling out the stops and Welker; well we all know how I feel about Welker. I'm thinking we need to be one step ahead. Push ourselves beyond what we're comfortable with. Practice hasn't shown our strong suits and we need to really work on that. If we go into the game with the right mindset, but no plan, it doesn't matter how determined we are, a victory will never be in the cards."

"Cullen might have something," Coach Peters admits.

I grin and shrug, of course I have something; I've been watching every other team's highlight reels the entire off-season, seeing where we can improve. I'm glad Coach is finally seeing that.

All three coaches get down on our level and we discuss a fool-proof game plan, though it does hinge on whether our team can carry the weight of the struggling players. Black is included on that list, and thankfully Coach Daniels says something about it before kick-off.

Once things are set, we go out there; not only with the determination to win, but also with the plan to make it happen. Like Coach Thompson said, the Broncos are formidable opponents, if we don't handle ourselves right, we're going to get our asses handed to us.

Kick-off goes well and we break into their defense, pushing for yardage right off the bat. We make a pass play, bringing the ball right for the end zone, only a few minutes into the game. Score. Then it's back to pushing them out of our space.

We actually manage to keep them on their toes with our defense.

They fumble and it's our turn again, we push and take as much ground as we can before scoring yet again. Things are starting to look real good.

"We're killing them," Seth comments.

"I know, and this is what a team is supposed to look like," I inform him, looking out over the field, pleased.

"I just wonder if defense is more in the game, because you're less in their head."

I look at Clearwater to see if he's all there because it sure seems as though he's not. "Yeah, right. If I hadn't been so far up their asses all week, they'd still be playing like shit."

"Cullen, you need to know when to let it go."

I shrug. I'm not letting anything go. Clearly, something is working—Black is taking yardage from them left and right, and I'm getting ready to make a play that will secure us the game. This is exactly how a good game is supposed to work. The game shouldn't depend on one player, it should be everyone, working as a goddamn team. And if I didn't remind those assholes about that importance, we'd be in the same boat we were in last week.

The Broncos fumble and we get a turnover. Thanks to the magnificent work the defense has done, offense gets to go out there and score. It's not even going to be a fight.

"Cullen, we're going end around," Coach Peter's informs me through my headset. For once, I actually think it's a good idea. We don't need yardage, only numbers on the board. We're so damn close we can just throw the ball.

In the huddle, I spell it out. "Hale, I'm going to hand it off to you and then you're going to throw to Lahote. McCarty, Collins, and Clearwater are going to be your blocking force."

"Wait, who's going to block for you?" Hale questions.

"I still have Ateara and Cameron, but don't worry about me. This is on you. You need to make the hand off and get it down to Lahote so he can do his thing."

"Are you sure?" Hale asks, clearly noticing the differences in the play from when we practiced it.

"Yes," I answer firmly. "I'm positive."

They all agree and we break, slapping each other's helmets. I even got in on it. Trying to be a team player and actually being one are two different things, but I hope I can fake it long enough to make everyone see I'm not the enemy.

I just want a team that knows how to play the game. That's all I've ever wanted, though I know that's not necessarily going to happen. I'm happy to force their hand part of the way if it gets points up on the board.

Going up to the line, we take our positions and wait for the whistle. I know this is going to be easy, but changing up the players, gives us a chance to show off how diverse we can be and makes us look like even more of a threat.

The whistle blows and there's the hut, I catch it and hand it off to Hale, he grips it firmly before throwing it to Lahote, who runs it to the end zone. The blockers did great, but I was left wide open, if they hadn't followed the ball, I could've gotten hurt…bad.

It's my fault and I'm just glad nothing happened.

We run the clock out the last few seconds of the game with our forty-three point lead over the Broncos.

As I walk off the field, feeling good about the game, I see Coach shaking his head. He looks pissed.

"Cullen, my office after you get done with the tunnel."

"Okay," I agree easily, willing to take whatever he has to dish out, because we won…again.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you to MC for her amazing beta skills! And a huge thank you to Wiltshire Glo for her stunning pre-reader skills! I love you both. Disney is fabulous, but I feel like my feet are going to fall off. And with this update, I'm going to wish you all a good night. :) I probably won't have a chapter ready for next Friday as we don't get home until then. But, I'll be working away at it and it shouldn't be too late. <strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The whistle blows and I watch what has to be the weakest attempt at pushing I've ever seen in the history of football. It even makes Black look as though he has a set of balls.

"Uley, you're an excuse of a jersey!" I shout from the sidelines, trying to keep my anger down, but it's not working.

Coach Peters shakes his head and gives me a nasty look.

"Push!" I shout.

Uley's footwork is a mess. I can't understand what he's thinking; it's as if he's not even fucking focused. It's getting on my last nerve, and I'm going to do something about it if the coaches are going to turn a blind eye to the abomination right in front of them.

"What?" I question, when I see Coach Peters glaring in my direction.

"We don't need any more fights, Cullen. Stop provoking the other players and earn your paycheck."

"I'm not looking for a fight. I'm trying to point out weaknesses, and as I recall that is a part of my job description, so I believe I am earning my paycheck."

"I thought we discussed this after the game Sunday?"

"Discussed what?"

"When you have concerns that you're supposed to bring them to our attention?" Peters motions to all the coaches.

"I'm fairly certain all we discussed last Sunday was that you wanted me riding wood and Alistair said no way."

"Why don't you just bring your opinions to us, the coaches, and we'll handle it from there."

"I would, but my concerns seem to fall on deaf ears."

"How is that?"

"I don't see you screaming at these guys to perform to their best."

"Maybe we don't choose to scream at our players. Did it occur to you we may have a better strategy than yours?"

"Whatever it is, it's not working. Uley is out there pushing like a pussy. I can't stand this shit. Either step up to your position or step off."

"That's it, Cullen. You're benched for two weeks!" Coach Peters fires off.

"You can't," I comment, nonchalantly. "I'm running the blood drive for Alistair's wife later. I'm sure she would be more than disappointed to know her favorite player won't be out on the field on Sunday."

"Don't push it, Cullen!"

"Yeah, yeah," I mutter, walking back into the locker room to get ready for my torture session.

In the locker room I wait for Coach Peters to come over and start bitching at me, but it doesn't happen. Instead, Uley comes storming in with a shitty look on his face. Black's not far behind him.

"You're doing great out there. I don't think a shoulder injury is going to hold you back," Black tells Uley as I toss my shit in my locker.

Throwing my hands up, I do everything I can to keep my mouth shut. I can't stand watching someone get pitied who doesn't deserve it.

Coach Peters finally comes ambling into the locker room and I'm sure I'm about to spend some more wasted time in his office.

"Go get your ankle checked," he shouts, scowling at me. "You didn't get it checked before practice and the last thing I need is for you to be sitting out on Sunday."

I shake my head, walking down to Dr. Benefico's office. After a quick knock, I enter. Carlisle is sitting behind his desk making notes in a file.

"Hello, Edward," he greets, sounding surprised to see me.

"Hi, Carlisle."

"What brings you here?"

"Coach Peters wants to make sure my ankle is doing well. I've been babying it, but he's concerned about it for the next game."

"Didn't Bella check it before practice?"

"No," I answer.

"Why not?"

"Apparently, it wasn't on Coach Peters's mind then."

He shakes his head briefly, before composing himself and walking over to the examination table. "I'm sure it's fine, but put it up here and I'll take a look at it."

I do as he asks and watch as he removes the sock, looking over my ankle as thoroughly as ever. He presses on the hinge points and watches for any reaction, looking up at me.

"I think you're fine. I don't believe it's sprained anymore. How does it feel to walk or run on it?"

"It feels fine. A little weak, but it's not that bad."

"All right, I think you can wrap it for your work outs, but my suggestion would be to leave it undone for a run. It will help it heal and get stronger on its own."

I nod, thanking him for his time. I guess Coach Peters wasn't that far off base. I'm just glad Dr. Benefico was able to put his eyes on this himself. I know Bella's certified and all that jazz, but I still trust Carlisle much more than her. He's been handling sport's medicine for so long, he can simply feel a weird muscle and know exactly how to treat it.

"You'll be fine," Carlisle tells me, confidently.

"I'm glad; the last thing I need is an ankle injury."

"I know, but I don't see anything to worry about."

"Excellent. Thank you, again."

"Not a problem."

He walks me out the door, after my shoes are back in place and I grab my clothes. I need to get myself ready for the blood drive. I'm actually secretly thrilled about this volunteering assignment. At least Alice has picked something close to my heart.

After hurrying to get dressed, I walk back out into the locker room to see Alice standing there, hands on her hips.

"What's up?" I wonder.

"Nothing, just making sure you're not bailing on our drive."

"I would never," I say coolly. She knows that, or at the very least she should. The last thing I need from her is to question where my loyalty lies.

She nods firmly. "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

"Good. Remember to keep your attitude light. You have a lot of fans out there who are looking for a connection from you and they hope to get that here."

"Okay."

"Also, I've taken the liberty of assigning you your very own nurse."

I shrug. That seems silly, but whatever floats everyone else's boat is fine by me.

"Edward, on a personal level. I didn't quite wrap my mind around how this might affect you. Are you okay?"

I give her a look that she can't mistake, before nodding. "Yes. I'll be fine."

"Thank you," she whispers. Pushing aside my personal feelings on the subject, I walk out to the field, ready to face everyone.

Throwing on a smile, I look at the throngs of people who have showed up for this worthy cause. Walking over to the podium I see Alistair's wife, Mary, standing there. "Hello, Mrs. Anderson."

Her cheeks blush and a smile lights up her face. "Please, Edward, call me Mary," she insists, leaning away from the microphone.

"Of course, darling, whatever you want."

Again, she smiles, looking so taken, I turn to the crowd and wave. "Thank you guys for coming out here on this cold day. I really appreciate it. I want you all to know how near and dear this cause is our heart," I tell them, motioning between Mary and I, flashing a smile.

"Now, if I may, I'd like to start us off," I announce, giving Mary a warm hug and stepping off the podium.

I walk over to the handlers and they direct me to my assigned nurse. It's the very nurse who looks a hell of a lot like Bella. As I get closer there's no denying that either it's Bella standing there, or she has a twin.

"Cullen," she greets, sounding anything but happy.

I give her a questioning look.

"The coaches didn't want just any nurse or phlebotomist drawing your blood. They wanted me. So you're stuck with me."

"It sounds like you're stuck with me," I comment with a chuckle.

She shrugs. "Either way."

She opens her little kit and begins to get ready, motioning for me to sit.

"I didn't realize you were qualified to draw blood," I remark, taking a seat on the gurney.

"Is that really something you want to say to someone who's about to stab you with a needle?"

I shrug and look around.

She shakes her head and slips on some gloves, grabbing a piece of rubber and wrapping it around my forearm. She ties it quickly, snapping it against my bare skin. "Oops, sorry about that... I must not be properly trained."

I roll my eyes. "You know, Bella, I never said that. If you listened to my words you would know I said that I didn't realize you were qualified to do this. I wasn't, however, questioning your actual skills."

"Yeah, yeah. You might as well have been. You're so…condescending; why do you have to come across as such an ass all the time?"

"I don't believe speaking my mind is being an ass," I correct, noticing she's already pricked my arm and begun the drawing process. I didn't even feel the needle.

"Please. You can't fool me, Edward. I know your type. You're a self-centered, superstar quarterback who can't keep his mouth shut—your ego is as big as your stats. That's why you're here today. The coaches and your PR woman made you shape up or they were going to cut your ass."

"Whoa. Back up. First of all, yes, I made some comments that didn't sit well with some of the coaches and yes, I am paying for it. But I can assure you that I'm here today because of the cause, not because some pint-sized whiny PR woman told me to be."

She backs up a little looking pretty surprised. "You're here for the cause? That's almost believable."

"It better be fucking believable, because it's true," I grit out; sick of her nonsense. She doesn't know shit about me, or the first thing about a bedside manner. I hope to hell she was never actually a nurse.

"Sorry," she whispers, finishing up.

I don't even acknowledge her comment. It's not worth it to me. She's not worth it to me. I was clearly very mistaken when I thought she was worth a fuck. Not anymore.

She places a bandage on my arm, then helps me sit up. I swat her hands off me. "I'm fine. I don't need your help."

"You do! You need to be careful; you're probably going to be light-headed or dizzy."

"Don't worry about me." I level her with a cool stare, standing up on my feet. Sure enough the bitch is right, I'm wobbly, but more than that, I feel sick. I force myself over to the podium, though, and manage to thank everyone for coming out, before officially opening the drive.

As soon as I'm done talking, I see Alistair coming up behind with a wheelchair. I give him a look, but the one I receive in return is more than enough to make me sit.

"Bella told me you were sick," he explains, wheeling me to the sidelines.

"I feel fine," I lie.

"Sure you do. That's why you're white as a ghost."

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize to me. Eat this cookie and try to feel better fast. We don't need our star player looking weak, even if it is for a good cause."

After I stuff the cookie in my mouth and manage to get it down, without it making another appearance, I speak again, this time with Mary, explaining to everyone how important it is to keep our blood banks full. I keep any and all emotions at bay, finally retreating for my car. It's been a long day and the lone drive home is actually something I'm looking forward to.

In the parking lot I see a whoosh of brown hair whip around in the wind in front of me.

"Bella," I call out.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Cullen, are you acknowledging me now?"

I sigh audibly. "Listen, I just wanted to tell you that what you had Alistair do for me was good."

"You're welcome."

"I didn't say thank you, because I didn't need it, but you were acting on what you thought were instincts."

"Excuse me?!"

"I was fine."

"You were two seconds from vomiting on live TV and then passing out."

"I was not!"

"You were, Edward; it was all over your face."

I hold back my temper, trying to remember why I called out to her in the first place. I wanted to tell her that following your instincts is usually the right thing to do. "What I was saying was, that you did a good job today, the needle didn't even hurt."

She rolls her eyes, turning away from me without another word and continuing to her car.

"I was simply trying to give you a compliment!" I shout after her.

I hear her screech out something, but I don't bother to pay attention. Instead, I get in my car, crank the music and haul ass out of there. I can't wait to be at home.

Maria is there when I step into the house. She's cooked up a massive Italian spread and as I walk into the kitchen I'm greeted with plenty of delicious scents.

"Darling boy, you're home!" she greets cheerily.

"I am, and glad to be."

"Oh, honey, I saw you on the news, so brave. You looked like my strong warrior today."

"Thank you. I was trying to put on a stoic face, but I wasn't sure I pulled it off."

"You did! You did so well!"

"You think so? It was only a blood drive." I shrug and avert my eyes, feeling rather unsure of myself. "It'll never be enough."

"Elizabeth would be so proud of you."

"That's all I can hope for," I say in a meek, quiet voice.

She reaches up and kisses my cheek, then pulls me to the table, where there is a feast waiting for me. "You need your energy after your day. Here's your fork, dig in."

"Aren't you going to sit with me?" I ask, like a little boy, seeing her walk off from the table.

"Yes, I'm just getting the wine."

I smile at her and wait patiently for her to return. I don't know where I would be without Maria in my life. I can't risk losing her. I vow from here out that I will never do anything to anger her again. I can't take it, she's too damn important to me.

The dinner is simply amazing and Maria was so right, she knew exactly what I needed to feel like my old self. Lots of delicious carbs and fatty proteins.

"That was phenomenal."

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm glad you liked it."

"Thank you for making it," I reiterate, not feeling as though I've thanked her enough lately.

She waves me off as if the task was minuscule.

"Have you called Tony recently?" I'm curious enough to ask. Though, it's not a subject I like to venture into, I feel as if tonight is the right time to ask. Especially, since everything else has been brought out of the closet.

She lets out a deep sigh, shaking her head. "The last time we talked he asked me not to call again."

Anger surges through me. Tony, that bastard, doesn't know what he's doing with his words. He doesn't have a clue who he's hurting. "You never told me that," I respond as calmly as I can manage.

"I didn't want to burden you with it."

"Maria, you can always talk to me."

"But your life doesn't need people like Tony polluting it."

I shake my head.

"I was thinking about calling him on Thanksgiving or around Christmas, but I don't even really know what to say to him."

"If I've learned anything from you, speak from your heart."

"He may not want to hear what I have in my heart."

I nod, understanding her feelings. I can't imagine what it would be like to have a kid who doesn't want to hear from me. I know no matter what was between us, I would still call my mother, if she was still around. That would be too much for me to deal with if I didn't.

_What I wouldn't give to go back in time… _

"I promise, though, I'm not losing sleep over it," she tells me, but I can clearly see she is. If I had my way I would call up that damn fool and tell him to speak with his mother, but, I can't.

With that, I walk over to the liquor cabinet and pour myself a heavy tumbler of whisky, before doing the same for Maria. I hand it to her, kissing her forehead and heading for my room. I've handled about all I can in the emotions department today and now it's time to sleep away all my worries.

After reaching my room, I sit and sip my drink, trying to decompress. I go back to Uley and his shitty pushing, how horrible his footwork was, and I try like hell to let that daily crap take over my mind, but images flash through breaking it up and taking me down a dark, broken path with blood spatter and screams. Not one I mentally need to be on tonight.

I close my eyes, trying to erase those pictures from my mind, but no matter what I do, they just won't go away. When I finally give up, I grab my sleeping pills and take a few, hoping sleep will keep all of the bad memories at bay.

After setting the glass down on my nightstand, I flick on Sports Center and crank the volume enough to drown out my own mind. It's tough, but eventually the drugs take over and I'm left in the peaceful, empty, blackness.

* * *

><p><strong>A HUGE shout out to Midnight Cougar and Wiltshire Glo for being so amazing! I love you guys to pieces! <strong>

**I hope everyone's Thanksgiving/Black Friday Madness was wonderful. One thing I'm thankful for is my loving and supportive family. I don't really know what I would do without them. What were you thankful for?**

**Also, THANK YOU so much for all the birthday wishes! Yes, I'm another year older, but I still feel like myself. Hey, maybe I'm finally adjusting to this almost thirty business. :/**

**Any questions for me? I'm sure there's plenty of questions after this chapter... *evil laughter* I hope that you all love me still and will understand that I have a plan. It'll all begin to make sense soon. I promise. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"It's game time, Cullen! How're you feeling?" Coach Peters asks.

I give him a look, knowing damn well he's not asking me because he actually cares, he just wants some reassurance we're going to win today. "I feel good."

"And the ankle? Do you want to get it looked at?"

"I know you'd have my ass in Carlisle's office if you thought I needed to have my ankle examined again. Even if it was only as a precaution. What is this about?"

Coach Peters's face morphs, and I watch as he tries to gather his thoughts. He looks as though he's going to have a fucking breakdown right there in front of me. And while most of the time I would relish it, right now, I don't think I could take as much pleasure away from it. It's too close to kick off.

"The other coaches and I have decided to bench Uley."

I look at him skeptically. "Why?"

"Because you were right. He was playing like shit and we could see it. His shoulder is holding him back and we don't know when it will be right."

"Okay?"

"Coach Daniels is considering speaking with his agent."

"Why are you telling me all this?" I wonder. This is team business bullshit. It's not information the quarterback is typically privy to.

"The other coaches and myself are concerned about who we might try to bring in as a replacement."

I look up at Coach Peters and glare. I knew there was a reason why this asshat was talking to me like this. "Who were you thinking?"

"James Marshall."

I shake my head. This is fucking ridiculous. They think Uley is bad and they want to replace him with the shittiest linebacker to grace the fifty yard line. Pathetic. "Why are you even consulting me? Does my opinion suddenly matter or something?"

He shrugs. "Like I've always said, your opinion matters to a certain degree, but it's us coaches who have to deal with the repercussions."

"I get that, but why are you telling me about the player possibility."

"Because we understand there may have been bad blood between you two back in college."

"May have been?"

He shakes his head.

"Yes, there was bad blood. That's an understatement. Marshal isn't worth the jersey. If you draft him, I might just go back on my contract."

"Don't start talking crazy, Cullen."

"Well then you stop talking like you're going to ruin this team."

"Ms. Brandon thinks it would be a good PR move for you two to make up…publically."

"Good for her. She works for me. You do understand that, right?"

"She said it would humanize you. Make you more likeable. That could be very good for your reputation. Something you so desperately need to improve."

"I'm fairly certain that recently I've shown how honestly human I am. The blood drive went phenomenal and I have an appearance at the kids' hospital this week. I don't think we need to bring Marshall into this to better my reputation."

"Cullen, I wasn't really telling you all of this to get your opinion, it was that Ms. Brandon figured this would be a better way of breaking the news. The thing is, we're taking on Marshall and you're going to be the one to announce it at the press conference after the game. I want it to sound sincere and you elated that he's joining the team. Got me?"

"What did Alistair say?"

"He was the one who asked me to relay the message to you. If it doesn't come out right. He's benching you for the two weeks I threatened you with at practice. Plus, there will be _other_ repercussions. Get your ass in gear or get out of here. Understood?"

I shake my head and roll my eyes. This is the last fucking thing I need. Not to mention that my game mojo is completely gone. Jesus Christ! I'll be doing a press conference about this asshole after we've lost. _Fuck!_

It's a brutal game. We're beaten on heavy and hard. While I'd like to say we put up a good fight, our defense was seriously lacking. There were plays that scored which shouldn't have made it off the line. Pathetic mistakes like that are going to be what costs us the playoffs. We need to pull it together now, or we're going to be done before post season.

Walking into the tunnel, I try to throw on a happy face, but I can't help feel like a failure. While none of my plays were our downfall, I still feel as though we lost because of my lack of mojo, and if it wasn't for Coach Peters and his ridiculous announcement, we wouldn't be here right now.

I see the fans and try to get excited. My heart just isn't in it, though.

Taking a few pictures and signing a couple autographs, I move right down the line, trying to make it into the locker room.

But right there, right before the locker room entrance, is Bella. She's standing among the crowd, with her sparkling brown eyes and her sweet smile. I wonder briefly if it's actually for me. That is until I notice a little girl standing next to her.

"Bella," I greet.

"Cullen," she replies, but her smile is still holding.

"Holy cow! You actually know him! You're Edward Cullen!" the girl, about twelve, squeals.

"I do!" Bella tells her with a grin. "Give him your foam finger and I'm sure he'll be glad to sign it for you."

I smile down at Bella, trying to keep her as happy as she looks right now. I wouldn't want to change that for anything. It's a different side of her I find myself enjoying...a lot. She carefully takes the foam finger off the girl's hand and passes it to me, along with a marker.

I take it from Bella as gently and begin my usual routine, but then, I stop. This girl is so excited to meet me, and Bella probably looks like a hero to whom I can only assume is her daughter. I might as well make her year here. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Kate," she whispers, blushing furiously.

I smile and tell her what a beautiful name Kate is before signing the finger to her.

"Do you want a picture?" I wonder with a soft smile.

"She'd love one, but I forgot my phone and I refuse to let her have one with a camera at her age."

"Okay, let's use mine. Bella, I can just text it to you after?"

She shrugs, looking rather unsure, but Kate makes up her mind for her. "C'mon! It'll be great! God, I can't believe you know this heavenly man."

With that, I whip out my phone and pose with Kate first, letting Bella take our picture together. Then, I take one with Bella and Kate. Wrapping my arms around each of them, mugging for the picture while Bella snaps it off.

"Oh, my God, this is the best day ever!" Kate exclaims, while Bella shakes her head. She sure as hell doesn't look old enough to have a daughter that old, but hey, who knows, mistakes happen I guess.

"Thank you, Edward," Bella whispers, handing me back my phone.

"No problem at all," I return. I don't mind making dreams come true, especially when they involve me.

"I owe you," she insists.

I wave her off. "You're fine. Just, uh, give me your number so I can get you these pictures. You know?"

She nods, scribbling out her number on the paper. "Thank you again."

I smile and finally walk into the locker room. For a brief moment with Bella and Kate I had forgotten I have a press conference ahead of me and even that we lost. Dreading the evening ahead, I grab my clothes and march toward the showers.

Wanting to take a long, hot shower to try to get my head in the right place isn't an option.

"Cullen, we need you out here for a briefing!" Alice shouts from the shower doorway.

I shake my head and brace my hands against the wall, dropping my head to my chest and letting the hot water run down my back; trying to calm the ire I feel building inside me. This is ridiculous; I never get any peace, and Lord knows I won't until I retire.

_Maybe it'll be sooner rather than later… _

Hurrying around to get dressed and look presentable, I finally exit the shower, ready to be coached on how I'm supposed to talk about the game and give that asshat some kind of welcome to my team.

"How're you feeling?" she asks, watching me walk, carefully.

"I feel fine. I just want to get this shit over with."

"Remember you have an early morning tomorrow."

I grimace at her, not remembering what form of hell she has planned for me, though, I'm sure it'll be legendary. "It's not as if I'll be partying tonight."

"I know, I know, but this is for the best," she declares, rounding up Coach Peters, Thompson, and Daniels.

I begin to shake my head, absolutely hating what's coming my way. I don't want to hear about their reasons for bringing this guy on and I certainly don't want to be the one to offer him an olive branch. It's not my style.

"Edward, it's a done deal, you know that, right?" Coach Thompson asks seriously.

I give him a curt nod, straightening out my shirt and walking through the door. There's going to be eyes on me everywhere and I'm going to need to come off as sincere. I'm hoping to make Maria and my mother proud tonight. Too bad one of them won't be watching from home.

With a deep breath, I step out into the room smiling. The handlers direct me where to stand and I try to get there as fast as I can. I just want to put this day behind me.

Staring down the barrel of the very oppressive camera, I attempt to put on a good face. I know my warnings and even though it goes against my better judgment to welcome this asshole to the team, I understand I have to.

"Is there anything you would've done differently in today's game?"

"There're lots of things I would've done differently, but we can't live in the past. We can only learn from our mistakes and improve on the future. That's why I'm announcing our newest addition to the team: James Marshall. He'll be joining us next week and we hope he'll be the strength we need on our defensive team."

It may not have been as welcoming as it could've been, but I tried my very best and I'm pretty sure I didn't suffer any catastrophic injuries lying as deeply as I did.

There are tons of questions, none of which I have any desire to answer and most of which I don't actually know the details of. Such as, I'm not familiar with what his signing bonus is. Nor do I give a shit, either.

Once the hounds are exhausted, I'm allowed to leave and go home. It feels so good to breathe and take in everything around me outside of work. I hate those press conferences, but most of all, I hate James Marshall. Knowing he's going to be a teammate, all too soon, isn't sitting well with me.

It's certainly going to make for an interesting, and God only knows what else, season.

***OM***

"Edward, darling, you need to wake up," Maria calls.

I grumble out something I hope sounds intelligible.

She retaliates with a wooden spoon and a pan. The sound won't stop, so I'm forced to actually get out of the perfect cocoon I've been peacefully sleeping in. "Edward!"

"What?" I rasp, rolling out of bed.

"You have work today!"

"No, correction, I have hell today," I respond, trying to keep my feelings in check. There's no need to explode at the only woman in this world whom I love.

"Kids are not hell, especially sick ones," she tells me coolly; with an attitude only she can get away with.

I give her a nod, understanding there is no arguing with the woman. There's no use, nor is there an actual need. I love her and she loves me. We don't necessarily need to see eye to eye on everything.

I scramble to get ready so I don't piss her off any further and hurry downstairs for some much-needed breakfast to start my day. I don't know what I'd do without her.

She's laid out quite the spread, and to apologize I kiss her forehead when I reach her. "I'm sorry about earlier."

"It's fine," she murmurs. "I know this isn't your favorite thing in the world."

"You're right. I really wish I could spend my day just about anywhere, but the hospital."

Her eyes cut to me. "I bet those kids do, too. Too bad they don't have a choice like the footballer who's coming to see them today."

I frown.

"Don't give me that Edward, you can be generous and give of yourself. I know you can. God knows you can."

"Don't bring him into this," I say firmly, taking a seat at the table.

She shakes her head as starts dishing herself up.

I dig in, not wanting to deal with Alice if I'm late today. Looking around the kitchen for anything I can make conversation about, I see a pile of wrapped presents and quickly look back at Maria. "What are those?"

"They're for the kids."

"I figured that, but why are they here."

"Because you're going to personally deliver them today," she informs me in a tone I know not to argue with.

Still, I can't help but wonder why I'm bringing gifts. I understand the holiday season is coming up fast, but it isn't quite upon us yet.

"I think the presents will serve to put a smile on these kids' faces. They probably don't get many gifts since their parents are stuck with hospital bills."

I think about that for a few moments and realize how hard it must be for a kid stuck in the hospital because they're sick and there's nothing they can do about it. I offer Maria a smile and realize I really shouldn't question her actions. She always means well.

Pushing my seat back I try to focus myself on the day. Now that my head is in the right place, I need to get to the hospital and do the job I'm supposed to do. It's important, I suppose.

Grabbing the gifts Maria has thoughtfully gotten and now placed in a big red bag, and taking my keys to my Jeep Wrangler, I kiss Maria on the forehead and wish her a good day.

"You too, sweet boy," she calls after me on my way out.

In the Jeep, I try to focus on the day ahead of me and not let my thoughts be clouded by the past and shit I can't change.

Though, one thing is still really haunting me—besides Maria's sad eyes. The fact a son won't call his mother and even goes as far as to tell her he didn't want to talk to her anymore. I may just have to have my lawyer contact Tony. Things like that can't happen. Not to a sweet woman like Maria. It's not fair. Not in the least.

Pulling into the parking lot there're camera crews everywhere, and again, I'm unsure of where to park, but this time around, I simply take the first one I see. Today's for the kids. Fuck my reputation. If Alice thinks it's so far down the toilet then she can get another blood drive rallied together or even a donation drive or some shit like that.

I grab the bag of presents and attempt to walk in, but there's a crush of cameras and instantly I'm swarmed. I drop the bag and some gifts fall out and I really hope nothing Maria bought is breakable.

Thankfully, a God sent handler comes out and pushes everyone back, allowing me to collect the bag and gifts I dropped and make it into the door. I don't even pose for pictures because Maria's right: today is about them. The kids who are stuck here day in and day out. I don't think I could've handled that kind of sentence as a child.

I certainly know I wouldn't be where I am today if I had been in a hospital like that.

"You'll need to sign in with ID, it's for security purposes," the handler informs me, pointing to the station across the lobby.

"Okay," I agree, nodding, still carrying the huge gift sack and more presents than my arms can fit.

I set down the mountain of gifts and wait for a nurse at the station.

"Can I help you?" A voice comes from behind the mountain.

"Yes, I need to check in, please."

A clipboard with a paper slides to the side of the presents. I take the pen and fill in my name, reason for the visit and the time, before taking my wallet out and sliding my ID over to the nurse.

"Cullen?"

I grimace. While I love my fans, they sure do make me who I am, I don't want make this day about anything but the kids. "Yes?"

"It's you," Bella says, poking her head around the pile of gifts.

"What're you doing here?" I wonder in shock.

She shrugs. "I've decided to go back to my roots."

I raise an eyebrow in question wondering what she means by that, but she waves me off.

"I'm the lucky sole who gets to guide you around the hospital," she announces with somewhat of a smile.

"Aren't you new here?" I have to ask, since I know she clearly had another job.

"Not really."

"Okay," I say, feeling confused, but gather up the presents and follow her.

We head up three floors, which is a silent ride, thanks to Bella. When we exit the elevator, she tells me I need to don a mask, hospital gown, and gloves before meeting any of the patients. I nod and set the gifts down before getting dressed as she's instructed.

I certainly have no desire to make these kids any sicker than they already are.

There are lots of rooms to visit and Bella is very clear when she says these kids shouldn't get too worked up. I agree and let the visits begin.

Seeing their faces light up and their eyes brighten is something incredibly special. Moments of my life I know I will remember for a long time.

One little girl knew someone from the team was coming today, she had a jersey on over her clothes and even a Pats hat on. She looked adorable.

"Oh, my goodness! It's you!" the little girl squeals.

"It is," I assure her calmly, hoping she calms down too. Bella's giving me a look that says this behavior isn't good.

"I watch every game!"

"Really?"

"Oh yes, I wouldn't miss one for the world."

"That's awesome!"

She gives me a toothy grin and I ask her who her favorite player is.

"You, silly!"

This girl is after my own heart.

I hand her one of the gifts that's left and watch in amazement as she opens it. Silently, I thank Maria for taking the time to care about these kids. I now know who I want to donate to this year. The hospital could use some money, but so can the kids. I mean the parents, like Maria said, are probably so financially burdened they don't know what to do.

Hannah loves her new doll and we all watch as she plays with it.

I finally realize that Bella is snapping photos on her phone. I can't really understand why, but I roll with it, wrapping my arm around Hannah's shoulder and posing for a picture. This is one that I actually feel good about since I know it's not going to be immediately splashed all over the newspaper.

"Hey, we need to move on," Bella informs me.

I look at her wondering why, but then I see the doctor standing at the door.

I give Hannah a big hug and follow Bella out the door. I know it's important for her doctor to take care of her, but damn, she was just so touching.

At the end of the day, Bella leads me back downstairs. She looks tired, but happy. It's been one hell of a day and certainly not one I'm going to forget any time soon. There's something about kids that just make the world go round.

"Hey, thanks for taking time out of your day and leading me around the place," I say, feeling as though I owe her something.

"It wasn't a problem, it's part of my job."

Feeling a lull, I scramble to find something to say. I don't know why, but I feel as if I need to keep talking to her. It's odd.

"I hope you and your daughter enjoyed yourself last night."

"You mean even though you guys lost, pretty brutally, may I add."

"Yes," I cough out.

"Oh yeah, my niece and I really did enjoy ourselves." I note the girl wasn't her daughter, but decide not to harp on it, since Bella's not trying to cut me.

"Are you, uh, here from now on?" I wonder, awkwardly.

She nods.

"Oh yeah?"

"Well, not that it matters, but it's because I missed the kids. I was a registered nurse for a long time, but Carlisle mentioned I may want to venture into the physical therapy area, since I'd always had an interest in it. Sports therapists also tend to make more money than nurses. And I did that, but the team isn't as rewarding as time with the kids. So Carlisle released me from my internship, thankfully, and I was able to get my old nursing job back."

"That's pretty cool."

"I like to think so."

"Well, then, I guess I'll see you around."

"I guess so," she replies quietly. "Bye, Edward."

And with that, I give her one last, thoughtful look, then turn and head out into the parking lot that is still teaming with photographers.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you to my beautiful Beta Midnight Cougar. <strong>

**Quarterbackward is starting to show through, right?**

**Also, since it's the holidays again, you might be looking for that winter holiday read to snuggle up by the fire with. If so, please check out The Long Road Home on Amazon. Follow along the road home for the holidays with Shane and Josie. Read to find out if they can make their way back to one another or not. **

Love you guys and thank you for your patience over the holidays. :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Can I just say... GO PATS!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

"Edward, we need a winner!" Alistair shouts, looking pissed. As desperately as I want to shout back, I bite my tongue.

"The last game was sick. They're like sharks, they smell blood, they're going to bite," Coach Thompson agrees.

"It's true," Alice chimes in, and I wonder for a moment what the hell she's even here for.

"The last game was not lost because of me," I argue.

"Whose fault was it then?" Alistair questions.

"It was our lack of defense. They're all too soft, letting plays score that shouldn't have made it off the line. I've said it before and I'll say it again, our defense needs a good ass whooping if it's going to take us anywhere this year."

"Uley is already out and Demetri is still out with his ACL," Coach Daniels offers defensively. "We've made a mid-season trade for his replacement."

"Right! But is Marshal going to make the difference we need?" Alistair wonders, looking worried.

"I'd like to think he is." Coach Thompson sounds confident. "The game footage looks promising."

"I expect it to," Alistair informs him, turning to me. "What specifically do you have issues with on the defense, Edward?"

"Black isn't stepping up his game. I don't think he's worth the jersey he wears," I tell him honestly, but it garners me a look from Alice that clearly tells me I've gone too far. Oh well.

He nods, looking at Coach Daniels for some answers.

"We've got Black working with a new trainer. We've known about his weakness for a while, but it's not so bad that we can't make him a better player. We just need time."

"Time is money!" Alistair shouts, turning red. Taking a breath, he turns and tries to calm down. "Is he making progress?"

"Yes, but progress takes time and conditioning," Thompson answers.

"Why wasn't this issue dealt with in pre-season? It seems as though that should have been nipped in the bud then?" Alistair questions.

"We've been dealing with it since then. We've tried new techniques. The progress was still coming along pretty slow, so we switched up the trainer, not an easy decision to make," Thompson clarifies.

I'm just happy they claim to know he was pushing like a pussy, because Lord knows I've been saying something about it for long enough.

Frustrated, Alistair eyes me. "What else is glaringly wrong that we can fix?"

"We need Crowley to tighten up his footwork. McCarty needs to be more present. It always as if he's a little late to each play. And Lahote needs to work on his handling. He's fumbled twice; that, to me, doesn't make us look well-oiled." The words roll off my tongue and it's everything I've been shouting about since pre-season. It feels rewarding to have it finally reach someone's ears that cares about the fate of the team.

If Alistair doesn't do something with this information, then no one's going to.

"These are all things we've been working on," Thompson comments defensively. "Things I've spearheaded. I have notes going back to before pre-season about it. Lahote is out there catching his ass off. His stats prove that. Two fumbles does not make him a mess. McCarty is being worked with; he knows his position isn't secure, so I think you'll see sincere improvement from him."

"And what about Crowley?"

"We're on top of that, too," Coach Daniels remarks.

"If I don't see improvements in all of these areas by next game, I'm coming after your asses," he seethes at the coaches. "I can't understand why there aren't significant improvements by now. We need to step it up or there won't be any kind of post season for us." The coaches nod before Alistair storms out of Coach Thompson's office.

I'm left leaning against the window, wondering what's going to happen next. Surely, these coaches are going to see some need to push back at me.

"Cullen, we need to talk!" Alice announces in a bitchy tone, looking miffed.

"If you'll excuse me?" I offer to the still stunned coaches.

They vaguely nod as I scoot by them and out the door, following the tiny woman who's so put out I can almost see steam coming from her ears.

"What's up?" I wonder, as she stops in the dead of the hallway.

"I want to know why there're only two usable pictures from the hospital."

"What'd ya mean?"

"I mean, that when I called the media, they informed me no one was asked to go room to room with you and take pictures."

"Oh yeah, I told the hospital to forego that option."

"Oh, you did? How nice of you. Did you also tell them to forego your career?"

"Again Alice, I'm not entirely sure what you mean."

"I mean, that you were asked to bring up your rep, right?"

I nod.

"And to do that you needed to make a few selective appearances to show you've had your head removed from your ass and that you are a human again, no?"

"I suppose."

"Well, if there's no photographic evidence of you exhibiting human-like qualities, no one is going to believe you've changed one damn bit."

I take a deep breath, trying to calm down. I don't want to go off on her, here in the hallway. "I thought it was a good idea not to expose the already sick kids to anymore germs than myself."

"Good for you. We'll just run with that. Except we have no photos you were even there."

"If you stop for a moment. I was going to tell you that there are photos."

"Huh?"

"Bella, you know the, uh, woman from Carlisle's office."

"The physio assistant?"

"Yeah. Well, she went back to her old job, there at the hospital. She's like the lead nurse or something. And she happened to be my escort. She was able to capture a few tender moments with me and the kids.

"I'm sure if you contact her she'll be more than happy to share the photos with you."

Sighing, she looks mildly relieved. "Thank God. We have something to go with. I certainly couldn't just publish pictures of you entering and leaving the hospital. Though, the pile of gifts were a nice touch."

"Thanks."

***OM***

It's been a long morning and I'm not in the mood for practice, but there's no escaping it. We have a huge game on Thursday, since it's Thanksgiving—a lot of fans look forward to it, and I'm not about to disappoint them.

Stepping into the locker room there's a dull roar of voices—players chatting and discussing the game. Everything's great until I see Marshall standing at his newly labeled locker. Anger starts rocketing through me. Enough to get me in the right mindset for practice. I want to take this prick down and show the coaches what a huge mistake they made by hiring this shit.

The whistle blows, I get ready to defend myself, but McCarty is right there. He's actually on time. I snap back and Hale catches the pass with ease. He runs it to the end zone while I still marvel at the fact McCarty was paying attention. Too bad this is only practice and doesn't really matter.

I'm so stunned McCarty was on time for a play, I didn't even notice what Marshall looked like out there.

Coach Thompson pulls us together to have us run an _out play_. He tells me he wants to see if Seth is ready to keep the fleas off Hale.

We take the line and wait for the whistle; when it comes McCarty keeps me open to pass to Hale and he runs it ten yards until he's safe on the side lines. Clearwater kept him pretty well covered. It was good, and I'm not used to saying that.

We run a few more passing plays until Coach Thompson is satisfied there's progress really starting to show through. I'm starting to actually have confidence in the team, and I haven't been able to say that in a long time.

But now, the real test is going to be with the defense.

Coach calls me to the sidelines for a better watching position and he pulls Newton from the bench. It's not often the second string quarterback sees much field time, even if it is only during practice.

He tells each team what play to run and we sit back, ready to watch. Ready to pick out the faults.

I take a moment to observe the stance of Marshall. He squats down, but his back is too vertical. It's not the hit position at all.

Coach blows the whistle and he goes down like a ton of bricks. Useless, just like I thought.

I don't bother to say anything; though Coach Thompson's face tells me he can see it too. He tells them to set up again and calls out Marshall's trainer. He puts him in a better position and again the whistle blows. He stays standing a little longer this time, but not much. I'm wondering what the hell is going on, since the coaches all swore up and down the game footage looked good for this guy.

I frown and we reset. I'm beginning to wonder if he has an injury or a pre-existing condition that wasn't mentioned when the contracts were signed. It just seems as if he's much weaker than I ever assumed.

Coach blows the whistle again and he's immediately sacked; making me wonder what the hell is going on with this guy. I can't hold my comments back. I turn to Coach Thompson and let him have an ear full.

"He's useless. This is never going to be the push the defense needs."

"Do you think I'm blind, Cullen?"

"No, I just hope you can see what I'm seeing."

"Trust me, I see it. I'll pull for individual and have Dr. Benefico take a look at him."

"You're thinking the same as I am, aren't you?"

He shrugs his shoulder. "He's got to have an injury for him to fold like that, and I don't think he wanted us to find."

"Can we cut him?"

"Sure. We can always do that, but if we play like that the team will take a hit."

"No one's going to blame you for cutting damaged goods."

Coach Thompson gives me a look before sighing. "I don't think it's in the cards right now, but we'll see what doc has to say, all right?"

"Sounds good," I agree, finally feeling like the Coach has had some sense knocked into him.

***OM***

My phone rings, making me jump. I'm so lost thinking about practice and the changes to the team I wasn't really paying attention. Quickly I hit the button on the steering wheel and wait for call to answer.

"Edward dear?" Maria's motherly voice chimes through.

"Yes?"

"Oh good! I need you to stop at the store for me. There're a few things I need for Thanksgiving dinner."

I groan quietly. The last thing I want to do is go to the supermarket. I have plays I need to watch. I have strategies I need to think about. "What do you need?"

"Butternut squash, cranberries, and milk."

"Okay," I say with a sigh.

Pulling into the store I breathe a sigh of relief when I see that it's not mobbed. I should be able to get in and out fairly quick. Grabbing a basket and making sure my hood is firmly in place, I dart inside, trying to hurry.

Being approached by a fan is one thing. Getting hounded is another, and I've been there. It gets weird and I end up feeling trapped, wanting nothing more than to run.

I make fast work of the produce and then walk as fast as I can, without drawing attention to myself, to the other end of the store. Crash. I look up and see I've driven my basket right into some woman. She's doubled over the handlebar. I let go and help her straighten up.

Looking her over, I realize I know her.

"Bella?"

"We really need to stop running into each other like this."

I let out a little laugh and offer her a smile. "Sorry about that. I was just trying to get out of here without being seen."

"Never would've guessed." She chuckles.

"So…how are you?"

"Before being clotheslined, you mean?"

I smile, nodding.

"Well, to be honest, I'm stressed today. I've been trying to find someone big to read to the kids Friday afternoon, but because of the holiday, no one wants to offer."

"Someone big?" I question.

"Yeah, well," she breathes out, sounding on edge. "Because the kids are sick and can't go home for the holiday, the hospital likes to have someone of some importance come in and read to them or even just play with them. It's supposed be little like Make-A-Wish, but with a revolving door of local personalities."

"I gotcha. That's awesome for the kids."

"Oh yes, but I get a great deal of pressure from the Board when I come up short."

"That's terrible," I say, before realizing I could probably fit the bill, and actually wouldn't mind doing it. "I'm free after two Friday."

"Really?" She looks surprised.

"Yeah, the game is on Thursday this week."

"Oh, I know. Kate hasn't stopped talking about it."

"Your niece is the sweetest. I hope to impress her this game to make up for losing."

"Well, you can try, but I'm sure she'll be screaming at the screen for some reason or another. But Friday? Are you really free?"

"Yeah. I'll be there; if you know, you think I'm big enough for the kids, and to make your Board happy?"

"Eh, you'll do."

I chuckle, shaking my head, and thankfully, she starts laughing too.

"So, I'll see you then, and thanks so much." She motions to her basket. "I guess I should get going."

"Sounds good. See you Friday."

"Awesome. Have a Happy Thanksgiving and I guess a good game."

"Thanks, you too!"

She grins and walks off. I take a long look at her delightful ass before finishing up my shopping trip and making a bee-line for the registers.

After finally getting home, I place the groceries on the counter and proceed to tell Maria about my plans for Friday afternoon.

"Really? You volunteered on your own free will?"

"Yes, I did. Jeez, don't sound so shocked." But she gives me a look, so I explain. "I thought about it and these kids are stuck there, and it wasn't so bad when I was there the last time." I shrug. "So, what's the problem with taking a few hours out of my day to make them smile again?"

"That's such a wonderful thought. Bless you, my boy!" she squeals, planting a kiss on my cheek.

"Aw," I groan, not loving the attention.

She waves me off and cheerfully plates dinner, telling me to eat. That I'm going to need my strength for the game on Thursday.

I thank her for her delicious food before retiring to the game room. I need to start reviewing game video and get to strategizing. There's also something else that's been on my mind that needs to be taken care of. And while it's not my favorite subject in the world, I'll deal with it.

Flicking on the game footage I want, I pick up my phone, hoping the volume will drown out anything I'm about to say.

"Calvin, this is Edward," I speak clearly into the phone, after checking to make sure my door is firmly shut in my game room. No need for any prying ears to overhear me.

"Hi, uh, Mr. Cullen," a shaky sounding lawyer responds. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?"

I take a deep breath and try to keep myself as calm as I can. "I'd like for you to deliver a message to Anthony for me."

"Uh, sir, I don't think I can do that. Given the _situation_."

"I don't give a damn about the _situation_. I'm asking you to do something. You know you'll be well compensated." I do give a damn about the hellish situation, but since I already can't speak with him directly I suppose my words don't really matter.

"What kind of message are we talking about? If this is at all antagonizing or threatening you know I'll have to politely decline your request."

"It's not. I just want him to call his mother. She deserves it. Also, tell him that he shouldn't be so damn selfish." There are of course other colorful things I'd like to say to that ungrateful prick, but Calvin doesn't deserve to hear those.

"I can relay the message, but I can't guarantee he'll do as requested."

"Well, I can. Add to the message, remember who sends the money."

Calvin breathes out a heavy sigh before finally acknowledging he's added it. "I'll deliver it tomorrow."

"Not good enough. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I want the message there today. I want him to call her tomorrow."

He lets out an unsteady breath, and I can tell he's still trying to consider how to get out of it, and this doesn't please me.

"Calvin, again... You know you'll be compensated for your trouble," I reassure him.

"I've never been worried about that, but—"

"Good, then you'll have the message to him today."

"Yes, sir," Calvin reluctantly answers with another sigh.

"Thanks. It will mean a lot to Maria."

"I know, Mr. Cullen."

And with that our business is done. A simple message of that magnitude is going to cost me dearly, but it's worth it to see the look on Maria's face when the little fucker finally calls her instead of her having to chase after him.

I pour myself a tumbler full of vodka and sit down, ready to go over the game reel for the evening. Hopefully, the highlights will take over and I can stop replaying the _situation_ in my head.

* * *

><p><strong>There you have it. Enjoy! <strong>

**Let me know what you think, but I can't promise I'll be reading the comments right away. I'll be watching my Pats play! Have a wonderful Sunday everyone! **


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